road to the prison, turned down a winding romantic walk, that followed the mazes of a rill, in an opposite direction.
Lucy, whose eyes had been fixed with respectful attention on her fair companion, ever since her arrival at the cottage, now dropped a tear▪ from each. "You will not wonder at these tears, madam, said she, when you know that they are my common sign of joy and

admiration; they thank you on behalf of myself and my sex, whose peculiar beauty consists in those gentle virtues you so eminently possess; my heart feels not only pleasure, but pride, in an instance of female worth so exalted.
Though the family in which I live, from some cause unknown to me, have not the happiness of an intercouse with yours, yet your name is familiar to my ear, and carries with it the idea of every amiable and engaging quality." "Nor am I, returned the other, a stranger to the name, or the worth, of Miss Sindall; and I reckon myself singularly fortunate, not only to have accidentally made an acquaintance with her, but to have made it in that very stile, which effectually secures the esteem her character had formerly impressed me with." "Beneficence indeed, replied Lucy, is a virtue of which the possession may entitle to an acquaintance with one, to whom that virtue is so particularly known." "It is no less a pleasure than a duty, rejoined her companion; but I, Miss Sindall, have an additional incitement to the exercise of it, which perhaps, as the tongue of curiosity is at one time as busy as its ear is attentive at another, you may ere this have heard of. That ancient building to which the w••k we are on, will, in a few minutes, conduct us, was formerly in the possession of one, in whose bosom resided every gentle excellence that adorns humanity; he, Miss Sindall,—why should I blush to tell it?—in the sordid calculation of the world, his attachment was not enviable; the remembrance of it, though it wrings my heart with sorrow, is yet my pride and my delight! your feelings, Miss Lucy, will understand this—the dear youth left me executrix of that philanthropy which death alone could stop in its course. To discharge this trust, is the business of my life; for I hold myself bound to discharge it."
They had now reached the end of the walk, where it opened into a little circle surrounded with trees, and fenced by a •ail, in front of an antique